Everything Looks Better in the Morning
by thefalconwarrior
Summary: Tim doubts the validity of that statement. Right now, he's just glad for a momentary respite with his older brother. (Inspired by the Inktober prompts-Day 2: Tranquility)


**A/N:** Inktober prompt Day 2: Tranquil. So...this took a while. It's different from the first one. The word was "tranquil", but this is what kinda turned up in the end. I'm not exactly satisfied with it tbh, but I'm not sure how to fix it either. Well. I tried?

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 **Everything Looks Better in the Morning**

It hadn't quite been a fight, but it could have been. Jack had certainly been yelling enough. If Tim had yelled, even spoken back, it might have been a fight.

But Tim was too tired. Too tired to be the repentant, respectful son. Too tired to drag some vaguely plausible explanation out of his brain. Too tired to fight back. He just let Jack's words wash over him, face dangerously close to what Conner and Bart referred to as his "zombie face". Emotionless and empty. A Robin thing. Something he probably shouldn't be letting his dad see.

The problem, Tim reflected, as he ducked a knife, was that Jack had every right to be angry. He'd noticed Tim's odd habits, how little time he spent in the house, his late nights and early mornings interspersed with days he slept in until noon. Jack wanted an explanation. Tim could never give him one that satisfied him.

The problem, Tim knew as he kicked a would-be robber in the knee, was that Tim felt guilty. He really was being dishonest. He was keeping a secret, lying to explain away his odd routines. Of course Jack would start to make his own conclusions. But there was no way he could just tell his dad about Robin.

Tim whacked his bo staff against the side of the last man's head, sending him to the ground.

If Tim was the one at fault, what right did he have to be upset?

"Good job, Robin."

Batman's gruff voice sounded behind him, and Robin whirled around, momentarily too startled at Batman's presence to be surprised at the explicit praise, before it settled in. Tim felt his face heat up. A compliment was nice...but he must have seemed like such an idiot, showing his distraction not a millisecond after.

"Thanks," he muttered, unsure of how else to answer. Batman studied him.

"Call it a night," he said at last. He gestured at the attempted burglary posse that surrounded them. "I'll finish up here."

Robin nodded, pulled out his grapple gun and swung up to the building in front of him. He ran across the rooftop. He had a bike stashed three blocks east, but he turned north. He didn't want to go home yet.

Dana had knocked on the door maybe half an hour after Tim barricaded himself in his room. She'd given him a tiny smile and sat down on the bed next to him.

"He's just worried," she'd whispered. "I'm sure he didn't mean everything he said. You're a good kid, Tim. I know that. Jack does too. He didn't really mean it. He just...he just wants you to trust him."

Tim just nodded wordlessly.

"He'll calm down a little," Dana assured him. "By tomorrow, he'll be thinking a bit more calmly."

Tim didn't have the heart to tell her he'd spent more years with Jack Drake than Dana had. Then again, about three fourths of that time was time that Tim was at boarding school while his parents traveled. Maybe it was a moot point after all.

Dana smiled again and stood up. She'd always told Tim she wouldn't try to be his mom, but he supposed he appreciated it, that Dana was trying to make sure both he and Jack were okay. "You should get some sleep," she advised as she left the room. "Things always look better in the morning."

Tim didn't get any sleep. He lay on top of his blankets with his Robin comm hidden in a fist, wondering if he should tell Batman he wouldn't be patrolling tonight, if there was a chance Jack might come knocking in the middle of the night.

But as the glowing red numbers on his clock twitched into 12:00, Tim, still lying in the same, now uncomfortably warm section of the bed, staring at the ceiling, decided he couldn't take another minute there with the tsunami of thoughts and emotions in his head, damn it all. He slipped out his window and to the entrance of the tunnel that led to the Batcave. Bruce had been at the computer, and spared him a small glance and a nod as Tim headed for the changing rooms. Three minutes later Batman and Robin were leaving the cave in the Batmobile.

Tim stopped to stare out at Gotham below him. In this part city, the streets were dark and quiet. No criminal activity, he noted almost absentmindedly, but in spite of that the tension in the air was as thick as oatmeal. Unless that was just the humidity, he thought wryly.

Everything looks better in the morning.

Did Gotham look better in the morning? Tim supposed it did. In the mornings, when the sun was out and shining, Gotham could look like any other city, not the most crime-ridden major city on the East Coast. The thugs generally faded back into their hidey-holes and what shady figures did walk the streets could blend in amongst all the other bodies bustling through the streets.

Come night, again, and the thugs and robbers and murderers returned to the open, ready to try to rule the streets. Work hours for Batman and Robin.

Do things get better in the morning, or do they just look better? Until next time?

"Hiya, Robin."

Robin jerked around (why couldn't they make at least a miniscule amount of noise?) to face a smiling Nightwing. That was the first thing Tim noticed, actually. It' wasn't a carefree, sunny grin. Nightwing's smile was small and maybe a little...sad?...but no less warm for it.

"Nightwing?" 'What are you doing here" sounded too rude, so he carefully rephrased his thought. "What's brought you down to Gotham?" That still sounded awkward, but oh well.

Nightwing shot Robin a grin as he joined the younger vigilante at the edge of the building. "What, I'm not allowed to just come home to visit my family?" he asked teasingly, and Robin felt his lips quirk up as he eyed his "older brother".

"Y'know," he said, "I can never tell whether or not you're serious, when you say that."

Nightwing laughed, bouncing a little on his feet. "I had something I needed to tell you."

"Yeah?"

Nightwing grinned and clapped his shoulder. "You're it!" And with that he flipped over the rooftop. Robin was only startled for a second before he released his own laugh and grappled after him.

About half an hour later Nightwing and Robin sat on the edge of a rooftop, with pre-packaged ice cream bars from a nearby gas station. Robin could see the faintest glow of blue in the horizon. Sunrise today was 3:42, he recalled, the earliest of the year. Still too early for an early bird.

"So," Nightwing said suddenly, and Robin glanced at him to find him eying him sideways. "You wanna talk about it?"

Tim didn't bother to deny that he was upset. Dick would see right through him. Instead, he sighed, studying his ice cream and wondering where to begin.

"My dad thinks I'm in a gang."

Beside him, Nightwing made an odd sound. "A gang? Really?"

Tim stared out at the city and shrugged. "I guess it's a suspicion, really. He can't figure out what I'm up to and he doesn't believe anything I tell him, so he made his own conclusion, I guess. It's not like my own stories weren't usually pretty stupid."

Dick pursed his lips, but he didn't say anything.

"It's just-" Tim sighed and looked up again. "He's right. I am keeping secrets. I am lying. And I honestly kind of hate it, that I have to lie to my dad. But at the same time...I'm proud of being Robin. I feel like I'm doing something good. Something right. And also..." he paused a moment, and glanced a little shyly at his older brother. "Robin is...it's something special to me. It's a part of who I am, now. I don't want to give it up. Honestly? I'm not sure I even can give it up."

Dick smiled a little. "I think I know the feeling."

Tim flashed him his own smile, but it faded quickly. "The thing is, if Dad found out, he'd make me stop. And I don't want to. I can't."

Dick nodded slowly. "He wouldn't quite see it the same way, would he."

"No. But I guess when it comes down to it...I'm mad at him, to be honest. For always trying to drag the truth out of me. But. He's my dad. So he deserves for me to tell him, doesn't he? So am I the one being unreasonable, by not telling him? If I have to keep it a secret—am I doing something wrong?"

Dick set his popsicle stick down on the rooftop and leaned back on his hands.

"I don't know," he said slowly. "I think...being Robin was a choice you made for yourself. And I believe it was a good one." He looked at Time and smiled warmly. "Choosing to help people always is."

Tim nodded. Put like that, it sounded so simple. But the moment he thought a millimeter beyond that...

"The thing is, you know the risks, and you chose to accept them. Your dad, well, he's your dad. For him, the acceptable amount of risk is pretty different. Maybe...he's not quite used to the idea that you're used to making decisions and handling things yourself." His expression soured, just slightly, but the moment was gone so quickly that Tim wondered if he'd imagined it. "Adults don't usually trust kids to make their own decisions. Doesn't always mean they're right."

Tim nodded and put down his own ice cream stick. "It hurt, though, anyways. That he thinks I would join a gang."

"It's not usually a bad assumption in Gotham. But in this case, it is pretty dumb."

"He was really mad, though. I think he really believed it. He said I'm not allowed to leave the house. No calls, no internet. No friends over. I'm not exactly sure what he expects I'm gonna do otherwise."

Dick sighed and wrapped an arm around Tim's shoulder. "Hang in there, little brother," he said softly. "We'll figure it out."

Tim nodded. The wriggling mass of anxiety that he hadn't realized had settled in his stomach had eased somewhat. The sun was higher yet. 4:30, he mused absently. How early would a brooding Jack Drake wake up? If he found Tim's room empty, Tim would be paying for it once he got home. But he didn't really want to head back. He was happy where he was (and that made him stop, for a second, realize that he really, truly was. Away from his house and his worries, Dick at his side. Happier than he had been in a while, even though he'd never realized he's been constantly sad.).

He really should go, though. As much as he'd like to prolong the relieving lightness in his mind. It would only be worse for himself, if his dad realized he was gone. Even though he really spend even a moment more than he had to in the house.

"We used to wake up with the sun, back at the circus," Dick said suddenly, softly, and Tim blinked up at him. "It was just something we did, my parents and I. We'd just sit down, the three of us, and watch the sun rise."

That settled it.

Tim let his head drop against Dick's arm, settling in. Dick squeezed his shoulders, holding him a little closer.

They didn't speak again. They didn't need to. They sat together in companionable silence, in a tranquil moment stolen from the chaos that was Gotham and hero-ing and life like a wallet slipped from a purse by a veteran pick-pocketer. Beneath them, the empty streets were washed in the pink of the rising sun, the shadows of the night beginning to fade away.

In a little while, Tim would have to head home. In a little while people would begin to trickle back out into the streets. Soon enough the city would be full of cheerful voices and genuine laughter and skipping footsteps alongside the arguing and cursing and whispering. The streets would be full and lively while Tim would be sitting in his room, calm and composed as he read a book or did homework or engaged in some other mundane activity while his dad woke up and decided he wanted to talk.

Some things look better in the morning, but Tim still worried this might not be one of them.

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 _"There's something wonderful that happens between true friends when they find themselves no longer wasting time with meaningless chatter. Instead, they become content to just share each other's company. It is the opinion of some that this sort of friendship is the only kind worth having. While jokes and anecdotes are nice, they do not compare with the beauty of shared solitude. ~Jonathan Auxier, Peter Nimble and His Fantastic Eyes_

It kinda amazes me how I can go from a word to a picture to a quote to a story...and by the time we get to the story it is COMPLETELY different.

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I'm not a pessimist. Tim is being a pessimist. Tim is just tired. And upset. So he's being a pessimist. 🙂

Another Tim story? Well this is based on the era of the comics I first read and loved, with Dick as Nightwing in Bludhaven (far enough to have his independence, close enough to stay connected with the family, being a cop and calling Tim Little Brother even though he technically wasn't) and Tim as Robin, still in high school and living with his dad (a teenager bouncing a hundred responsibilities and emotions, teenaged ones and otherwise). Tim Drake is not boring. Tim Drake is awesome. Tim Drake is smart. Tim Drake had his own series as Robin. Tim Drake was a bad-lucked mess but kept going anyways. Tim Drake was relatable, in a way I think none of the other Robins are. I take back what I said last time. Dick's my favorite Batkid as Nightwing (and other assorted personas...) but Tim is my favorite Robin.

I apologize for rambling. It's 12 and I just got home from a midterm that didn't go as well as I would have liked. -_-


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